The confidence which Gordon had reposed in James seemed for a time to have given him a measure of relief.  While he never for an instant appeared like his old self, while the games of euchre at Georgie K.’s were not resumed, nor the boyish enjoyment of things, which James now recognized to have been simply feverish attempts to live through the horrible ordeal of his life and keep his sanity, while he had now settled down into a state of austere gloom, yet he begun again to attend to his practice and to take interest in it.  Clemency remained away for a week.  Then Gordon brought her home.  She was at the dinner-table that night when James returned rather late from a call on a far-off patient.  She simply said, “Good evening!  Doctor Elliot,” as if he had been the merest acquaintance, and went on to serve his soup.  James gave her a bewildered, half-grieved, half-angered look, which she seemed not to notice.  Immediately after dinner she went to her own room.  James, smoking with Gordon in the office, heard her go upstairs.  Gordon nodded at James through the cloud of smoke.

“She has taken a notion, my son,” he said.  “She told me on the way home that she wished to break the engagement with you.  She would give no reason.  She wished me to tell you.  I don’t take her seriously.  She cares as much for you as ever.  Girls are queer cattle.  She has some utterly unimaginable idea in her head, which will run itself out.  If I were you I would pay no attention to it.  Simply take her at her word, and let her alone for a little while, and she herself will urge you for a reconciliation.  I know the child.  She simply cannot remain at odds for any length of time with any one whom she loves, and she does love you; but she is freakish, and at times inclined to strain at her bit.  Perhaps Annie Lipton has been putting ideas into her head against marriage in general.  She may have frightened her, and they may have sworn celibacy together in the watches of the night.  Girls hatch more mischief when they ought to be asleep.  They are queer cattle.”

“The trouble began before Clemency went away,” James said soberly.  He was quite pale.

“Trouble?  What trouble?”

“I don’t know.  All I know is, that the very day when Clemency went away she seemed changed to me.  You remember how she called out good-by, and I did not go out to help her off as I should naturally have done.”

“Yes, I do remember that, and I did wonder at your not going.”

“I did not go because I was quite sure that she did not wish it.  She had been very curt with me, and had shown me unmistakably that my attentions were not welcome.”

“And you don’t know why?  There had been no quarrel?”

“Not the slightest.  I have not the faintest idea what the trouble is or was, and why she wishes to break the engagement.  All I know is that as suddenly as a weather vane turns from west to north, she turned, and seemed to have no more use for me.”